


Poisoned

by Cdelphiki



Series: Whumptober 2018 [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angsty Tim Drake, Depression, Explicit Language, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, New chapter with comfort, Prompt Fill, Sick Character, Sickfic, Tim Drake gets a hug, Tim Drake is dramatic, Tim drake needs a hug, Tim is upset and cusses a lot, Whumptober 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-07-25 20:38:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16205219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cdelphiki/pseuds/Cdelphiki
Summary: A few months after Dick took Robin away from Tim, he found himself sick.  He hadn't felt bad before dinner, and Damian had been touching his food.  Considering Damian had tried to kill him several times, nearly succeeding a couple times, it wasn't too big a stretch to think Damian had done something to his food.  Now, sitting on the floor of the bathroom, all Tim could think about was how much he really hated Damian Wayne.Whumptober 2018Day 5: Poisoned





	1. Chapter 1

Sometimes, Tim hated his life.

Actually, a lot of the time.

If he were honest with himself, he’d admit he’d spent most of his 15 years hating his life.

He didn’t like to be honest with himself, though.

Growing up, he always felt so cold. So alone. His house was dark. Big. Quiet.

Sure, he had nannies for the first several years. A rotating assortment of girls in their early 20s, each one taking what seemed like a well-paying, easy job. Some of them were really nice, others Tim didn’t much care for.

But no matter how great they were, they always left, and Tim was left alone.

Eventually, though, he was too old for nannies, and he started spending his time alone. So many hours spent walking the halls of his house, listening to his footsteps echo.

Music helped. Playing music helped liven up the place, but no matter how loud he played it, it never filled in the void.

Tim spent many nights wishing he were someone else. Somewhere else. That people cared about him.

Then he met Batman. And that all changed.

Suddenly he had a drive in life. A mission. And while it wasn’t immediate, he eventually won over Bruce and Alfred and Dick, and then he had a family.

A family. A purpose in life. A reason to smile.

He was happy. Really, truly happy.

Sure, sometimes he felt down. Like when his parents popped in for a few days and didn’t even notice his black eye. Shouldn't parents care about that? Or when his mom sent another email to say they wouldn’t make it back in time for Christmas. Or when they forget his birthday. But overall, his life was great.

Being Robin was amazing.

With being Robin came his work with the Teen Titans, too. His friends. His second family.

Life was great.

But then his parents died. One after the other. That dragged him down again, but not nearly as bad as he thought it would. More than anything was the guilt that it _wasn’t_ dragging him down. They were his parents. Shouldn’t he be sadder? Bruce never got over his parents’ death, while Tim moved on fairly easily.

Maybe that was because _Bruce Wayne_ adopted him.

Tim was convinced that nothing would ever drag him down ever again after that. The man he’d been looking up to for years. His neighbor. His mentor. His boss. Wanted to be his dad. _Loved him_ enough to want to be his dad. To want to take care of him. To lay claim to Tim forever as _his._

Just the mere idea that anyone wanted him like that was enough to make Tim want to cry from relief.

Nothing would ever drag him down again, he was sure.

Then Damian fucking Wayne appeared. The devil incarnate himself.

Tim cursed the name of Damian Wayne as he sat on the bathroom floor, clutching the sides of the toilet while the entire contents of his stomach made their way back out.

_Damian fucking Wayne._

If it weren’t for that stupid brat, Tim would still be happy. Everyone would still love Tim. But no. Damian had to come around and steal Bruce away from him.

“ _This doesn’t change anything,_ ” Bruce had said.

Yeah fucking right. Didn’t change anything his ass. It changed _everything_.

Because _“oh Tim, Damian needs our love and patience. Be nice to him. You’re older. Be patient.”_

Bruce ‘dying’ just made everything so much worse. Of course, he wasn’t actually dead, not that anyone would listen to Tim.

His disappearance made everything so much worse. At least when Bruce was still there, Tim was Robin. Damian might have been able to steal Tim’s dad, but he couldn’t steal Robin away from him, because Tim was Robin. Tim had earned his role.

Then Bruce ‘died,’ and Dick became Batman. And _Batman_ fired Tim and replaced him with Damian Fucking Wayne. Tim was definitely hacking into the Social Security Administration to officially change Damian’s middle name to ‘Fucking.’

So Damian stole Bruce. He stole Dick. And now he had stolen Robin.

That was all Tim had. All that made him happy in life.

Without any of that, he was just that sad little boy all alone in his parents’ house.

It was dark. It was cold. It was lonely.

Maybe Tim could forgive the brat. After all, he was only ten. He had been raised by the League of Assassins. Tim could be the bigger man and give the child a chance.

Except.

That stupid fucking little piece of shit kept trying to kill him.

On top of that, every. single. day. he put Tim down. Took every little insecurity the teenager had floating in his head and vocalized them, threw them back in his face, and made sure Tim was aware of how absolutely useless he was.

Tim wanted to scream. He wanted to scream and cry. Scream, cry, and murder Damian Fucking Wayne.

And it didn’t help that Damian had _poisoned_ him. _Poisoned._ Like they were in a damn soap opera. A medieval drama. A poorly written story.

Damian Fucking Wayne had poisoned Tim’s food, and now Tim was in the bathroom, tossing up the entire contents of his stomach.

Tim _hated_ Damian.

“Drake,” Damian hissed from outside the door, irritating Tim further, “what is your problem? The noises you are emitting are _disgusting_.”

“Fuck off, you bastard,” Tim shouted between wretches, “as if you don’t already know.”

“Watch your tongue,” the brat snapped, kicking at the door, “It is obvious you are vomiting, I want to know _why_ you are doing so in _my_ bathroom.”

Tim sat back against the tub, pushing back the sweaty locks of hair that had plastered themselves to his forehead, and glowered at the closed door. “You fucking poisoned me, you piece of shit.”

With an exaggerated huff, Damian kicked open the door and glared daggers at Tim, the venom in his voice almost palpable. “I did no such thing.”

“Get out,” Tim shouted as he slipped off one of his sneakers to throw at Damian, “can’t you leave me alone for one damn day? After trying to kill me you can at least let me suffer in peace.”

Damian caught the shoe and threw it at the tub behind Tim. “If I wanted you dead,” Damian said coldly, “you’d be dead. Believe me there, Drake.”

“Right, because the multiple attempts you’ve made on my life were just _playing_ with me. Fuck. off.”

“What is going on in here?” Dick shouted, probably lured in by Tim calling Damian names. Stupid Dick Grayson really lived up to his name of ‘Dick’ because he always, always chose Damian’s side.

_Damian cut Tim’s line? Oh Tim, shouldn’t you just hide your stuff from him better? Damian poisoned Tim? Oh Tim, don’t call him names. He’s just a child!_

Stupid Dick Grayson.

“Drake is sick,” Damian said flatly, crossing his arms. Indifferent to the situation.

“Sick?” Tim screamed, “I’m not sick! You poisoned my food, you fucking demon. _Poisoned._ ”

“I did no such thing!” Damian shouted back, “Stop accusing me of something I did not do or I _will_ poison your food.”

“Damian, don’t poison his food,” Dick said tiredly, “Tim, why do you think he poisoned your food?”

“Because he did,” Tim said, fighting back the urge to just scream unintelligibly until his throat hurt too bad to keep going. To break everything in the stupid apartment. To throw Damian out the damn window. Instead of releasing his rage, however, Tim sat back up and released more of his stomach.

Or, his stomach tried, but all that was coming out anymore was acid.

“Dammit, okay,” Dick said, running out of the room.

“Tt. That’s disgusting.”

“Get,” Tim wheezed, struggling to speak through his sickness, “out.”

“ _No._ ”

“Would you two stop?” Dick exasperated, “Damian, leave him alone. Tim, here’s some water to rinse with. I’ve got a second glass to drink out of. We can get you something with electrolytes when you think you’re ready to keep stuff down.”

“I’m not _sick_ ,” Tim hissed, taking the glass angrily to rinse his mouth out with, “Damian fucking poisoned me.”

“I did not!” the child shouted, “I did not!”

Dick sighed loudly and waved a hand at Damian. “Okay, just stop yelling.”

With his signature scowl, Damian sneered, “But it wouldn’t be hard. You never check your food. You let your guard down too much.”

“It’s my house!” Tim screamed, throwing the now empty glass at Damian, “I _live_ here. I shouldn’t have to be on guard here.”

“Tt.” Damian evaded the cup easily, the object somehow not shattering as it thudded against the drywall and fell onto the bathroom rug. “You should always be on guard, because it’s when you drop it that your enemies strike.”

“Damian…”

“It’s my house! It’s my fucking house, Damian,” Tim’s voice cracked as he screamed, and he couldn’t keep his face from crumpling as he continued, unable to stop the word vomit spilling out of his mouth, “I should feel safe here. I should be happy here. I was happy here, I was safe, and then _you_ showed up. You stole everything from me. Everything. Even my _safety._ ”

Damian froze in place, a strange expression flickering across his face too fast for Tim to really catch it. He didn’t care, anyway. He just wanted Damian Fucking Wayne to go back to hell.

“Get out,” Tim snarled, tossing his other shoe at Damian “Get out, get out get out _get out_.” By the end of his demand, all Tim could do was collapse onto the side of the tub and bury his head into his arms. “Go the fuck away,” he cried, so done with the fucking world.

Damian let the shoe hit him this time and just stood there, motionless. Tim didn’t care. If Damian used this as his chance to finally kill Tim, he _didn’t care._

He was so done with this.

“Tim,” Dick said so softly from his side, a gentle hand resting on his back, “Tim, what’s going on?”

And for some reason, it wasn’t comforting. What Tim knew was meant to be reassuring, to be kind and nice and comforting, wasn’t. Instead, Dick’s hand felt like ice. It felt like a knife being driven into his back.

Because Dick had chosen Damian over him.

Dick had invited the demon into their lives and allowed him to get away with literal attempted murder.

Repeatedly.

And Tim was so fucking done.

Dick had made his choice, and it wasn’t Tim.

So Tim didn’t need Dick. He didn’t _want_ Dick. All he wanted was to be left alone.

“Go away.”

“Tim-”

“I said get out,” Tim shouted, pushing Dick away this time, “leave me alone.”

And, to Tim’s utter despair, Dick did just that.

He left.

He left and Tim was alone again, just like he’d always been. Like he’d always be.

Now there was more than just pain from being sick in his stomach. There was a deep, cold, emptiness Tim knew he’d never fill.

Because he had no one. And that would never change.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Due to popular demand: Here is the comfort part of a "hurt no comfort" fic. :)

Tim spent the next few hours lying in bed, trying his best to forget about everything. If he could just pretend everything was okay, maybe he’d start to believe it.

But then his bedroom door creaked open, and that hope was thrown right out the fucking window.

At least it was Dick and not Alfred or Damian. Tim would feel the need to be nice to Alfred, and he absolutely did not have the energy to deal with Damian.

With Dick, Tim could continue to stew in his anger and ignore him. So Tim did just that as he kept his eyes shut, back turned to the door.

Dick chose Damian.

Dick could go to hell.

“Hey, bud,” Dick whispered from where he’d rounded the bed to face Tim, “how are you feeling?”

“Go away,” Tim groaned, his voice barely more than a mumble.

The sound of a tray being set on the end table only further annoyed Tim, because there was no way Dick prepared Tim anything and brought it in on a tray completely by his own volition. Alfred made Dick come. That’s all this was. Tim didn’t even realize he was hoping his older brother would come check on him until it was clear he was only there because was forced to be.

“You look like shit,” Dick said just as the bed dipped, causing Tim to slide a little in Dick’s direction.

“Fuck off,” Tim said, blindly pushing at Dick, still refusing to open his eyes and confront the unwelcome intruder into his peaceful brooding.

Annoyance further spiked in Tim when his sweaty bangs were brushed back and a cold, calloused hand pressed against his forehead.

“You’ve got a pretty bad fever. Let’s check it, yeah?”

“I’m not sick,” Tim repeated for what felt like the 50th time that day as he pushed Dick’s hand away, “so get out.”

“You most certainly are,” Dick said, completely ignoring Tim like the jackass he was, “I interrogated Damian and he really didn’t poison you.”

That, finally, was what made Tim open his eyes to glare at Dick. He didn’t want to hear a lecture about being nice to Damian. About not expecting the worst from the child. And yeah, maybe he _hadn’t_ poisoned Tim. This time. But that didn’t make Tim’s assumption any less valid. The demon was just that. A demon. And he was sick and tired of Dick ignoring that fact.

“Get out,” he snapped, pointed toward the door, refusing to lower his glare as Dick just sat there.

“Sorry, kiddo,” he said with an apologetic smile, “but you’re stuck with me. Open.”

After glaring for another minute, Tim snatched the thermometer out of Dick’s outstretched hand and shoved it into his mouth, clicking it on as he did so. He lay there, arms crossed as he glared at the ceiling while the numbers steadily rose on the little screen. When the device finally beeped, he threw it back at Dick and flipped over, so his back was once again facing Dick.

“Wow,” Dick practically whistled, “103.2. Okay, sit up. You need Tylenol. Think you can keep it down? We can always do a lukewarm bath, if not.”

“Go away, Dick,” Tim repeated. He didn’t need this mother henning. He was fine on his own, just like he always was. He’d handled fevers and viruses dozens of times before without anyone’s help. This would pass just like every other one had.

“Not until I’m convinced you aren’t going to die in your sleep.”

Tim scoffed and rolled his eyes, not that Dick could see. Because it wasn’t like Dick actually cared. Alfred just made him check on him. Dick had made it perfectly clear who he cared about, and it wasn’t Tim.

“Which is it, Tim? Tylenol or bath?”

“If I take the damn meds will you go away?” Tim snapped, turning to face Dick.

“Is that what you want me to do?” Dick asked as he leaned over to grab the Tylenol and bottle of water off the tray.

“Yes,” Tim snapped as he pushed himself into a sitting position, “that’s why I’ve said it a million times.” Because he definitely did not want Dick staying out of pity, or some dumb sense of obligation. Everything would be so much easier to handle if everyone in his life just went ahead and dropped him completely, instead of stringing him along and making him think that maybe, just maybe, they were going to stay this time.

“Tim,” Dick sighed as he pushed himself up further onto the bed, leaning against the headboard right next to Tim, “what’s going on?”

Tim scooted away from Dick, so they weren’t touching anymore, and glared at his feet. What wasn’t going on? What _wasn’t_ wrong?

The whole world was crashing down around him and _no one cared._ Damian openly mocked him for it. His friends were gone. His parents were gone. His adopted dad was gone. And his only brother tossed him to the curb for a shiny new model.

That wasn’t how family was supposed to work. That wasn’t how Bruce’s family worked. He said so himself. Promised Tim that Damian’s existence changed nothing between Tim and the family.

But Bruce had lied. He lied and then he died and Damian took over everything. And no one cared that Tim was falling apart. He was lucky they even gave him a room here. Lucky they remembered his name.

“Tim, bud,” Dick said, running his hand through Tim’s hair again, making Tim realize he’d closed his eyes, “you’ve got to talk to me. What happened? I thought we were doing better. Why won’t you let me in?”

Grimacing, Tim pushed Dick’s hand away and rolled back around. He couldn’t do this. Talk about it. He didn’t trust himself to stay together long enough to have the conversation. Wasn’t sure he could adequately turn off his emotions to do so.

The bed dipped again as Dick sat down, his back against the headboard. “I’m not letting you shut me out again, Tim. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Wiping away a treacherous tear that had escaped the corner of his eye, Tim sniffed and whispered, “It’s too much.”

“What’s too much?” Dick asked, his hand suddenly resting in Tim’s hair. Even if Tim wasn’t going to push the hand away, he was going to keep his back to Dick. Because he was still mad at him.

“Everything,” he answered miserably, taking a deep breath to calm himself. The hand slowly combing through his hair was far more relaxing than he thought it’d be.

After a moment, Dick tugged at Tim’s sleeve and forced him to turn around and sit up. Once Tim reluctantly did so, Dick wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close and whispered, “You’re okay.”

Tim shook his head against Dick’s chest and said, “No, I’m not.”

Arms tightened and Tim felt Dick nod against the top of his head. “I know. You will be, though. You’ll get through this.”

“I know,” Tim said, defiantly, even though his voice was still too shaky to sound anything more than pathetic. He knew he would get through it. He always got through everything, because life gave no other option. Unless he died tomorrow, he was going to get through it. That wasn’t his problem.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Dick said, “because you aren’t alone. We’re still here.”

“Shut up, Dick,” Tim said half-heartedly, sitting up a bit so he could rub at his eyes. Wipe away all evidence of his tears. “Are you going to force feed me Tylenol or not?”

Laughing, Dick got up and shook out the right dose into Tim’s outstretched palm. “Wait,” he said, preventing Tim from just downing the meds before he was handed water, “god you and Damian both with the dry-swallowing pills. Disgusting.”

Tim stuck his tongue out at Dick before he obeyed and took the Tylenol with the offered water. After another long sip, he handed the glass back and settled down under his covers. He had seen it was a drowsy Tylenol, so hopefully he’d get to sleep pretty quickly.

“Now,” Dick said, clapping his hands as he did, “Do you really want me to go away, or would you rather me stay and watch MeTV with you? Mama’s Family should be on right now.”

Scrunching his eyebrows before looking back up at Dick, Tim asked, “Why do you just know that?”

“Who doesn’t have the MeTV schedule memorized?”

“Um, everyone,” Tim said, trying his best to suppress a smile as he scooted over, “You’ll get sick if you hang out with me.”

“I hope so,” Dick replied, plopping down onto the bed a big to roughly for Tim’s liking. He had to actively keep his balance to avoid hitting his head on the headboard as Dick jostled him. “It’ll give me an excuse to stay in bed all day for a few days and not deal with Damian.”

“Dick,” Tim exclaimed, “that’s so mean.”

Nodding, Dick said, “I love him. He’s a brat.”

“That’ll just make Alfred deal with him.”

Dick shrugged. “He’s good for Alfred. It’s the rest of us he’s a prick to.”

Tim’s smile slowly faded as they sat there for a moment, silently watching a commercial for a local injury attorney.

“I’m working on him,” Dick abruptly said, “I know he’s mean to you. I’m sorry about that. I promise I’m working on it.”

“Okay,” Tim said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say to it. He’d heard it before. ‘Give him time.’ ‘He’s learning.’ “He’s growing.’ Sometimes it was hard being the bigger person. Sometimes he just wanted to be a kid himself. Not the adult always forgiving a child.

“I love you, Tim,” Dick said, wrapping his arm back behind Tim, tugging him close, “just like I always have. I promise Damian doesn’t hate you. I hope that one of these days he’ll love you like a brother just as I do.”

“Keep dreaming.”

“I will,” Dick said, “but I do know he doesn’t hate you. So that’s a start.”

“I guess,” Tim mumbled, “now shut up. I haven’t watched Mama’s Family in years.”

With a quiet laugh, Dick settled them both down a bit more comfortably in the bed. Tim didn’t even make it through the first episode before the drowsy part of the meds took over and lulled him off to sleep.

And when he woke the next morning, alone in his bed, he didn’t feel as empty as he had been feeling lately.

Because maybe there was hope for him and Dick yet.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://cdelphiki.tumblr.com)


End file.
